


Little Devil

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curses, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kid Sam Winchester, Magic, POV Alternating, Pre-Season/Series 01, Protective Dean Winchester, Teenage Dean Winchester, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27351961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: For once, it looks like Dean and Sam have the chance of living like normal kids for a while. Stay in one place. Go to school. Have friends.But of course that's not how it turns out.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69
Collections: 2020 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge





	Little Devil

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHH!!!!
> 
> I've had the opportunity to write something for the SPN Reverse Bang again this year.
> 
> I had the pleasure of writing something for kirathehyrulian's lovely art and you can check out their art masterpost here on [Tumblr](https://kirathehyrulian.tumblr.com/post/633871369591013376/spn-rb-2020-little-devil-art-master-post) or [here on LJ](https://kirathehyrulian.livejournal.com/5568.html).
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader [GigiS89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiGiS89) for looking my story over.
> 
> So, I hope y'all enjoy the story and I'll see you in the comments.

Crying, Sam leaned back in the closet. Unsure where to go. What to do. The house they were in—because it's a house for once and not a motel room, actually a house that had rooms plural and space— _so much space_. It’d been lent to them by a friend of John's for the duration of a hunt, which John had left on days ago. But as Sam sat there and felt the curved points of the protrusions that had erupted from his skull and felt the long snaking tail that was sticking out in the rear of his pants, and the leathery wings on his back, the points of his teeth—as he felt these things, he could not begin to understand what on Earth was going on. It was like the suddenness of a lightning strike. He had been in his room, in the closet fumbling for a warm sweater, because the temperature had dropped and he was slightly cold. And then there he was hiding in the closet, as he felt the weighty presence of something watching him and he was scared. He thought to call for Dean, but as pain had ruptured through his body, he found himself unable to speak.

For two hours he’d hidden himself away in pain and fear.

“Sammy?” Dean called.

Sam did not answer. A whimper settled low in his throat. If Dean was listening, he would hear him.

“Sammy?!” Dean called again, voice more urgent.

The whimper filled out and bubbled up, clawing its way out of Sam's throat, as tears began streaming down his face. The floorboards outside the closet creaked and thudded with Dean's boots as he came upon the closet door and opened it wide.

“Sam,” Dean said in a questioning voice. “What are you doing in here?”

Sam whimpered again, words still too hard to come by. He wondered if perhaps it was all in his imagination. But then his hand trailed up to the top of his head and the protrusion on the right. Dean's eyes tracked the movement and he fumbled inside the closet and turned on a light, a gasp escaping him as he saw all that was before him.

“Sam… It's okay, Sammy,” Dean said. “We're gonna sort this out. It's fine. Everything's fine. It's, it's okay. We're good. It's gonna be okay,” Dean said quickly.

There was no comfort in his words, really, because he was an idiot. Sam might be 12 years old and Dean 16, but Sam was no fool. He knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

 _Of course it has to happen the weekend before starting at a new school,_ Sam thought. It was like a cosmic, sick joke, confirming that no matter how hard he played at trying to be normal, he never really would be. He’d just be a freak. He wished it was a prank by Dean, but the look on his brother’s face had said otherwise. Sam felt sicker than when he found out what really could be hiding under his bed.

Dean sighed and held out his hand to Sam. “Come on. There's no point staying in here,” he said, trying to bring some confidence into his voice that perhaps might reassure or convince. Sam was not sure who he was trying to convince, was it himself or Sam? Because it sounded like he was trying to convince himself and not just Sam. Their dad wasn't due back for weeks, the hunt he'd set out on involving a deep and troublesome investigation. It was one of the reasons why he wasn’t doing it alone for once.

Sam came out of the closet and closed the door. The mirror on the back swung into view, and Sam turned. He could see the rest of the room inside the mirror looked like it had before Sam had taken up residence in the closet. He could also see the horns protruding red and thick from his head. The leathery, pointy tail, whipping itself back and forth from his rear. The heavy wings at his shoulders. His one yellow eye.

He looked like a little devil.

There were no two ways about it. He looked like a fiend with a child's face. Dean, seeming to have realized his mistake in letting Sam near a mirror, quickly hurried Sam away from the room, taking him back downstairs and to the living room and sat him down on the couch there.

“Just stay there,” Dean said, and he hurried off towards the kitchen. Moments later, he came back into the living room carrying a glass of cold milk. Usually a comfort for Sam.

Usually.

Sam took the glass, cold chilling his hand as he felt the condensation begin to drip and slick. It took a minute more until he finally took a sip. Dean eventually breathed out, like he’d been holding in his breath until he could coax a human response from Sam. He sat opposite Sam on the coffee table, perched in the middle.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

A few minutes passed, and Sam felt calm or at least an illusion of it. He finished the milk and held onto the glass.

“I was just reading you know,” Sam started, “reading one of the books we've been told to check out for English classes over the summer. You know, I was just reading just… just… it's nothing. It's just reading,” Sam pleaded. Guilty of nothing, he was sure.

Dean rubbed thoughtfully at the back of his neck. Eyes glancing at Sam and then away as if he needed to look but was too scared to do so.

“We'll find out what's going on,” Dean reassured. “We'll find out and then reverse it. It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

But Sam did worry, because this was far more than finding out that some of the things that went bump in the night were real and wanted to eat him. People sprouting horns, wings and tails, looking like little Devils? That wasn't something that Sam had ever heard of, or seen before.

Not that he was allowed to go on hunts, though sometimes he was allowed to read and research for them, but not the completely graphic stuff. John was still trying for the minute—protecting Sam from some things. Still, Sam knew how to fire a 9mm in the pitch black darkness and that perhaps was scarier than anything Sam could ever read in a book.

***

Dean had thought that living in an actual house for a while would be a good thing for Sam and him. A real kitchen, some actual money to buy food for once, thanks to pastor Caleb. It was the perfect set up for the two of them—a chance to play at being normal. Okay, Dean still kept his 9mm under the pillow. No weapons in school though, because that wouldn't be normal, no matter what news cycles ever told people.

Yes, normal. Nice as pie, though clothes a little care worn, normal.

Why, Dean had even managed to score some paid yard work. People on the street they were staying were obsessed about their lawns and they liked Dean's can-do attitude. The extra cash was helping him buy the school books they both needed. And some beer, not that Sam was allowed any.

Life was, for once, kind of good. And Dean kept guiltily thinking about just how good, because he wasn't sure he wanted it to end.

Sure, there was still some training to do, dad wouldn't forgive them if they slacked off and Dean didn't want either of them to end up dead. But he also just couldn't help wondering what it would be like to stay in one place until they both finished school.

Now everything was in doubt. Dean could try calling their dad, but he had no idea if he’d even answer or come or… respond helpfully _and_ healthily to the situation Sam was in. Dean had seen the way John had changed over the years, his drive to hunt—and he didn’t want that singular purpose leveled at Sam. Not in a million years. So, this was Dean’s problem to solve and keep Sam safe.

There weren’t many books in the house. Of course John had taken what he could in the back of the Impala to help him figure out what the hell's going on out on the hunt. At this point in their lives it’s not like there is a humongous network of people that they're connected to and call on for advice.

But there were a couple of books lying around the house, and so Dean looked for a way to solve the problem because Sam was his responsibility. Dean was still freaked out, but he put on a front, one of sureness even if he’s unsure of what has happened. Dean doesn't quite understand how something like this could happen. It shouldn't be able to happen.

While looking through the third book of the five that Dean managed to actually hunt down between their things, he saw something that looked promising. It was only a temporary fix until he could just secretly dive into the rest of the data, books, or maybe they could go and see Bobby, or pastor Caleb, somebody anyone who might have some information.

It's a spell, and okay, magic was not great, John’s lectured them enough against its use, but it offered at least a temporary fix and it had simple ingredients, nothing that Dean couldn't get with just a quick, short trip on foot, outside of the house.

 _Okay, so the lamb's blood is actually perhaps the most complicated thing_ , Dean thought because he was not sure where the nearest butcher was. He was pretty sure that he would be able to find everything else he needed from lavender, all the way through to the crystals required because he saw a new age shop the other day. Just a couple of blocks over.

“I think we can at least hide everything. I'm going to get what we need, and we're going to try. Okay,” Dean explained.

Sam looked doubtful, but he nodded. “Please don’t take too long,” he pleaded.

“It’s just a few blocks over.”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

Dean hurried off, grabbing his dad’s old leather jacket on the way out. He had enough cash in his wallet for the impromptu store visit. As he shifted from residential buildings to businesses, he kept his eyes open for any sign of a butcher shop. He got a few looks as he walked, but no one bothered him and as he rocked up outside of Agnes’s Crystals, he hoped the place was the real deal.

A bell above the door tinkled shrilly as Dean pushed it open. Incense of an indescribable odor washed over him and made him scrunch up his nose. Switching to breathing through his mouth, Dean started looking around the shelves and stands, aware of the woman (Agnes, Dean suspected, all shawls and beads, and a nose ring) sat at the counter. Finding a bowl for putting crystals and stones in, Dean started selecting the crystals he needed based on a hastily written list he’d brought with him.

Aside from rose quartz, lapis lazuli, Dean also needed a slither of sandalwood and a silver knife, as well as a bronze bowl—again things that likely would have been kicking about in the trunk of the Impala. Not finding the sandalwood or the knife or bowl, he walked up to the counter.

“Hi,” Dean greeted.

Agnes set down the magazine she’d been reading, some crudely black and white printed thing, and smiled at Dean. “Hey, need some help?” she asked, voice husky from smoking.

“Yeah, I’m looking for sandalwood, a silver knife, bronze bowl,” he rescanned the list, “oh and a candle made on the full moon.”

Eyebrows raised, Agnes gave Dean a thoughtful look. “Sure, I’m pretty confident I’ve got those, let me check the back for the candle.” She twirled around, skirts flaring as she did, and slipped behind a beaded curtain.

Dean waited, eyes roving, ears listening. Never letting his guard down.

The beads on the curtain rattled together and Agnes reappeared, all the items gathered in her arms. She walked up behind the counter and set them down, and then Dean set down his bowl of stones.

“So, working a spell, huh?” Agnes asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?”

“Twice.” And that was no lie—Dean had done spells to bless blades several times.

“Well, be careful, huh? Glamors can be tricky to work.”

Dean nodded politely. “Right.”

“Well, if that’s everything, that’ll be $22.29.”

Dean pulled out his wallet and counted out the bills and change. Agnes took the cash and then packed up his purchases.

“Say… you wouldn’t happen to know where I might get some lamb’s blood?” Dean asked in as casual a tone as he could manage.

Agnes gave Dean another appraising look. “Try the kosher butchers down the block. Should have what you need. But be careful, huh? And if it goes wrong, don’t be afraid to get help.”

Dean was touched by Agnes’s concern. “Right. And thanks, for everything.”

Agnes smiled. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

***

Sam watched Dean work, peeking over the top of the couch as Dean worked in the kitchen. His tail whipped around nervously, Sam had little to no control over it. He hadn’t dared to flap his wings, but each time he thought of them, they shifted on his back, as if they might unfurl and suddenly take him aloft.

He was mute, which was unusual for him, as he watched Dean work. Words had lost their appeal, because Sam knew none that could fully convey the weight of his horns, the pull of his wings nor the sharpness of his tail. Sam prayed, silently, that he would wake up and find that it had all been a dream.

Dean lit some candles and then set a bunch of dried herbs of fire before lowering them into the contents of the bowl, setting them alight. He murmured something in Latin, but Sam didn’t recognize any of the words—at least not yet. And then Dean pointed at Sam and intoned:

“P _RAETEXO! PRAETEXO! PRAETEXO!_ ”

Sam felt like a shimmering light was covering him and cradling every part of his body. It was warm and made Sam’s skin tingle. The light grew and Sam found himself closing his eyes to shield them from the brightness.

“Sam, you can open your eyes now,” Dean said, voice close.

Slowly, Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. Dean gave him a soft smile. There were circles under his eyes and suddenly Dean looked far older than his 16 years.

“Go take a look,” Dean prompted, pointing towards the hallway and the mirror there.

Climbing off the couch, Sam padded out of the living room and into the hallway, soft socks thumping as he did. He looked and gasped. There were no horns, wings or even a tail—just Sam. Distantly, he was aware of the new appendages, but it was as if they were limbs he’d been sat on for ages and had grown numb with pins and needles.

“I’m me,” Sam whispered.

Dean came up behind him and set a hand on Sam’s right shoulder. “How’d you feel?”

“Like me.”

“You should be able to keep the glamor up all the time, just need this,” Dean said, handing Sam the lapis lazuli, “and to think ‘praetexo’ every so often while holding the stone. It’ll keep the spell charged.”

***

“Have you seen my brother, Sam Winchester?” Dean asked, voice strained. He’d left Sam at his new middle school earlier, satisfied that everything was going to be just fine on his first day there. Maybe some asshole kid had gone after Sam, but Dean hadn’t had to help Sam with bullies for about a year.

The teacher looked at Dean like he’d grown two heads, which sure—it was weird that he was stalking the halls of the local middle school, but he was down as Sam’s main contact. She frowned, tight auburn bun making her expression look pinched.

“Sam Winchester?”

“He just started here today. I was supposed to take him home after class. He wasn’t outside and he’s not here and he’s not back at the house.”

That got the teacher’s attention. “Your name?”

“Dean Winchester. Please, can you help me find my brother? I’m really worried. New school. New town. It’s a lot, y’know?”

The teacher nodded. “I’m Miss Giles. And yes. Look, let’s go to the principal’s office and see if we can find out who his homeroom teacher is.”

***

The janitor’s closet was quiet and dark, which suited Sam fine. He didn’t want to go anywhere until it was so late, no one would see him. He’d tried so hard to keep himself hidden, but his anxiety had peaked when someone had accidentally caught his tail in a door, invisible that it was. The shuttered scream had seen him go pale and a teacher sent him to the nurse. But before he could reach the nurse’s office, he’d felt his new parts return—seen his wings out of the corners of his eyes. Then he’d found a janitor’s closet and been stuck there all day.

Sam just hadn’t been able to find the calm necessary to charge the glamor.

“Sammy?”

_Dean?_

“Sammy, you here?” Dean called again.

Slowly, Sam edged towards the door and unlocked it.

“Dean?” Sam called, pulling the closet door open, eyes blinking against the lights on in the hallway.

“Son of a…” Dean rushed down the hallway, skating to a stop outside the closet. Eyes bugging out, Dean motioned Sam back into the closet and turned on the light inside.

Sam shivered, wings and tail flexing.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“Tail got hurt… couldn’t focus the glamor,” Sam explained lamely.

Dean looked about ready to start shouting, but then his eyes landed on Sam’s tail and he winced. Looking behind himself, Sam followed Dean’s gaze and saw in the light what he hadn’t been able to see earlier. The broken skin and bruising.

“Okay,” Dean said, ripping a bit of his shirt, “it’s going to be okay.”

***

Dean never tells John what happened to Sam. The two of them keep it a secret, looking for answers when they can—and finding none.

Even when Sam heads off for Stanford, he’s still got horns, wings and a tail, and Dean worries for him all the more for it.

But his worry is unfounded. Sam learned to use his new appendages to his advantage, able to keep his tail safe, and even learning how to fly, with his tail as steering him, not that he does that all too often. Being able to fly had helped out on a few hunts, though making sure John didn’t find out was tricky.

If Sam happened to be the most calm and collected freshman he met at college, it was down to the meditation he’d become adept at over the years to help him with the spellwork that kept his secret safe. The glamor Dean had found further adapted and changed to be suited to everyday use.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Don't forget to check out kirathehyrulian's lovely art over on [Tumblr](https://kirathehyrulian.tumblr.com/post/633871369591013376/spn-rb-2020-little-devil-art-master-post) or [or here on LJ](https://kirathehyrulian.livejournal.com/5568.html).
> 
> I'm [hitthebookspost](https://twitter.com/hitthebookspost) on Twitter. See my [carrd here for more info on where to find me](https://hit-the-books.carrd.co/).


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